Ryker Cage is a rough guy, with very particular
tastes when it comes to sex. Rough, hard, and dirty is the extent of his
repertoire. Never soft. He doesn’t have a clue about connecting with his
sensitive side in the bedroom, or that find-your-inner-femininity bullshit. He
fears nothing, except—his feelings for the sweet and innocent Molly Monroe.

The bad boy who lived next door claimed Molly’s heart
long ago. Crazy, or not, she loves him. Always has. No matter what he does to
push her away, nor how far he runs, Ryker is the one man she’ll never stop
loving.

When Ryker finally finds his way back home, will he
find the courage to claim what's always been his? Or, will he be destined for
heartache when someone threatens to take everything away?

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Adult
Excerpt:

“Fuck,” Ryker
said in a gruff grumble, staring down at the smoking-hot, red-headed bartender
on her knees, polishing his dick with her tongue stud—her shorts unzipped, her
right hand tucked inside—rubbing herself. Let’s just say, when he ordered a
deep throat, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

“You’re-so-big,”
she managed between long licks. “Just look at you.”

He was a big
guy, so hearing what she thought he wanted, wasn’t a turn on. What was? The way
Red nibbled down his length and fondled his balls.

He sucked a
breath through his teeth. The little vixen teabagged him.

“Sweet.” His
head went back when she trailed her tongue up his sack, between his testicles,
continued up his shaft, swirled the metal piercing of hers across the winking
slit of his cock before wrapping those lips around the broad head—sucking him
hard. “There you go.”

“Do you like
that?” she asked.

“Definitely.”

The bar-babe
picked up the pace, using her left hand to grip the base of him, alternating
between jacking and sucking.

“Keep it up, and
I’ll come, baby,” he said.

Ryker had no
idea what she said her name was.Why?
Easy. He’d been too busy eyeing her round ass jiggle in those skin-tight daisy
dukes when he escorted her to the back door of The Cherry Bomb for a cigarette,
although he didn’t smoke. And when she rubbed up against him—supple breasts to
muscled chest—whispering things like, “Suck,” and “You,” and “Down the back of
my throat” into his ear, they’d taken a quick detour.

He wasn’t what
one would consider sensitive when it came to the opposite sex. Rough, hard, and
dirty was the extent of his repertoire. Never soft. He supposed his tastes were
very particular. And, he didn’t have a clue about connecting with his softer
side, or that find-your-inner-femininity bullshit his free-spirited aunt Dali
spouted to him and his brother every chance she got.

The bombshell
scraped her teeth up his shaft and he groaned low in his throat, muscles
flexing, fingers splaying wide on the two, steel-sidewalls of the stall—calves
hitting the front of the toilet.

“Mmm….” The
little hum she did sent a satisfying vibration down the length of him.

The shine from
the overhead light bounced off the top of her head, setting a sunset blaze as
she bobbed up and down on his cock. She was eager. Focused. Determined to have
him bust a nut. He growled at the sight. She reminded him of a porn star by the
sounds she made. And the suctioned pull of her mouth on him with the twist at
the tip, along with the hand-tug at the root—freaking brilliant. But when she
changed things up and twirled her tongue around the under-edge of his flared
head, good God, the combination was
shiver inducing. Having been the happy recipient of a lot of differing
techniques in his almost thirty-two years, Ryker figured she hadn’t learned to
do that without plenty of practice.

Shit. She did the combo thing again. Red had him there. Ready.

“I’m going to
come,” he warned.

She popped her
plump lips from his throbbing dick. “Mm, yes,” she uttered in a breathy voice.
A second later, he exploded, warm jizz covering her manicured fingers and
silky-smooth palm, while she shook—her other hand still shoved down the front of
her shorts—climaxing.

Ryker closed his
eyes for a moment reveling in the extraordinary haze of nothingness. No
thoughts. No guilt. Nothing but the slowing of his breaths until they drifted
into quietness.

“Good?” she
asked, disrupting the silence.

His eyelids
lifted and he glanced down into her face. “Great, baby.”

She took on an
eye-twinkling, pleased expression, then Red slipped her fingers free, reached
for the toilet paper, and wiped her cum-covered appendages.

“I’m off in a
couple of hours.” She smiled up at him—a dimple creasing the right side of her
cheek.

Ignoring the
comment, Ryker righted himself and tucked his softening cock back into his
pants in an efficient manner. Here was the part he detested the most. He hadn’t
thought Red would be a clinger. He figured she’d be well versed in the rules of
a random hook-up. But he also understood what her last statement was leading
to. She wanted more, and he didn’t.

When Red stood
up, his gaze shifted to her. She reached around him and tossed the TP in the
toilet, zipped up, turned, unlocked the slider on the stall door, and stepped
out. They were the only two in the restroom. He was glad they didn’t have an
audience awaiting their exit.

“Want to hang
around for a while?” she asked. “We can go back to my place when I clock out.”

They both
cleaned up at the sinks. No need to wait. He wouldn’t be going to her place.

“Can’t.” He
added soap from the dispenser to his palm. “Early morning.”

“Hmm,” she
mumbled while washing her hands.

Jesus. He
hoped she wasn’t going to make a fuss. He hated those pouty,
I-can’t-believe-I-blew-you, you bastard, scenes. But when her green-eyed gaze
met his sea-blue one in the mirror, she appeared fine. No frown. No pursed
lips. No tears threatening to overflow. She didn’t look as if she were going to
go all fatal attraction on his ass.

She asked, “Do
you want my digits?”

Ryker rinsed and
dried his hands. He might be an epic asshole at times, nonetheless taking her
number, and acting as though he would call, wasn’t something he’d do.

“I think we both
know I won’t be calling.” Being as upfront as he could be, he strived not to
sound too douchebaggery.

She shrugged. “I
thought I’d at least give it a shot.” Red sauntered to the restroom door.
Glancing over her shoulder at him she said, “Thanks for taking a ciggy break
with me.”

“Sure thing,
although I should be the one thanking you.” She grinned. “So, thank you.” No
reason not to be polite. After all, Red did all the work, and even got herself
off in the doing. He’d just been along for the joy ride.

“I guess I’ll
see you around the club, Ryker.”

“Yeah.”

He stared after
her. Something about the way she said “I’ll see you around” in a soft, almost
remorseful tone, reminded him of—

“Don’t,” he
reprimanded and scrubbed his palm down the back of his neck.

Fan-fucking-tastic. He was talking to himself now.

He pulled his
cell from the top pocket of his shirt, gripping too hard.

Letting up
before he broke his phone, he brushed his thumb across the black screen,
bringing it to life, and gritted his teeth. Ryker detested this. He despised a
lot of things when it came to his desires he supposed, and this ache for
something he couldn’t have kept him traveling so much over the past year,
taking on software security jobs, which took him away from home. Far from….

Damn.

So much for the
bliss of oblivion, which was, let’s face it, always fleeting. Chasing that
short-lived minute was part of the reason for his extracurricular activities. To
stop thinking. Forget. Lose himself. And here he was, minutes after his latest
quickie, contemplating a conversation better left alone. Nothing good would
ever come from what he was considering.

Ryker glanced
down at the phone—finger poised.

“Screw it.”

He typed in his
text. Paused. Thumb hovering for a long moment, reading those four words over
and over. And, then, unable to do anything else, he pressed—send.

London Saint James has lived in many places, but
never felt “at home” until she met the real-life man of her dreams and settled
down in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her
husband and their fat cat who thinks he owns them.

As an award-winning, bestselling, multi-published
author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she
did, that big imagination of hers, and all those
clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.